


What if Malcolm Took Greta's Place?

by MLMDarkFiction



Category: The Boy (2016 Bell)
Genre: Dubcon or Noncon Moirallegiance, M/M, NSFW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 12:51:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16892946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MLMDarkFiction/pseuds/MLMDarkFiction





	What if Malcolm Took Greta's Place?

Malcolm had thought he was dead, beaten, and threatened by the real Brahms, and knocked unconscious as Greta made her escape. Now he can only hope that she will come back to try and save him from this fate, but if he thought he was dead, Malcolm can only assume Greta had thought the same. But he’s far from dead, very much alive, alive and bound to the master bedroom of the Heelshire estate, limbs spread, and mouth gagged with cloth.

Brahms, the real one, not the doll, stares at Malcolm through the porcelain mask from the foot of the bed. He watches with unchanging expression as Malcolm struggles against the binds, panicked breathing and whimpers muffled by the gag in his mouth. There’s no use in the struggling. Brahms has tied the ropes into strong knots, he’s lost one mate, he’s not about to lose another. Greta may be gone, but Malcolm is still here, and he’s just as good, if not better.

He’s slow, cautious as he approaches, worn hands trembling with anxiety as he touches Malcolm. The other man gives a panicked muffled yell, jerks his knee as far away from Brahms’ touch as he can, but ultimately can’t get away. Malcolm is scared, but it’s okay. He doesn’t understand yet, and Brahms knows he’d already hurt the man. It would be stupid of Malcolm to be unafraid.

The first jerk away is all Malcom needs to know just exactly the situations he’s in. There’s no way in hell he can break free of these bonds, and the subtle movement was enough to strain his muscles, showing it’s not a good idea to try such a thing again. It doesn’t completely stop his struggling though, Brahms continues his unsure touches up Malcom’s legs, across his stomach. The hands don’t stop there, the cool calloused fingers trail up Malcolm’s chest, around his nipples, until finally Brahms squeezes the man’s peck.

Brahms’ only experience with the male body is that of his own. He’s seen the naked body in diagrams in his school books, knows what everything is, and what it does but now it’s time to put his practice to the test.

‘Brahms!’

Malcolm tries to speak, to call out to the man behind the mask, and get him to stop. Still the plea is muffled, and there’s no acknowledgement from Brahms to Malcolm’s attempt to speak. He’s a man on a mission, and Malcolm is that mission.

“Hold still.”

A warm hand presses down against the middle of Malcolm’s stomach, and he’s forced to comply. He’s seen what Brahms can do, and he doesn’t want to risk being hurt any further. So, he stills, muscles tensing in fear, stomach rolling under Brahms’ warm palm, as the mans other hand begins to strip him.

“Pretty Greta left, but you’re still here.”

He can only swallow and cry around his gag, the fabric already wet from his previous attempts at speaking. Brahms voice is deep, far from his previously childish tone. There’ll be time for Malcolm to get used to that, time for Malcolm to learn the rules later too.

‘Fuck!’ is what Malcolm tries to yell when he feels the sudden prodding at his entrance, but the gag muffles it and instead its simply gibberish.

He’s tight, a virgin, and even Brahms finger is an unwanted intrusion to the ring of muscles. The warm hand, still resting on his stomach, begins to rub in what’s meant to be soothing circles. He jolts again when the hand dips lower, grabbing his flaccid cock, begging to roughly stroke. Malcolm whines and keens forward against the binds, ignoring the fiery pain in his shoulders and thighs from the movement. There’s no lube, and the skin on skin contact is far from pleasurable but, it is enough to distract the delivery boy as Brahms works his index finger to the knuckle inside of him.

There’s no response from Malcolm’s actual dick, no forming erection or chub, and the confusion it makes in Brahms is enough for the man to pause completely in his administrations, hand still yet cupped over his length, finger unmoving inside. Brahms tilts his head taking in the scene. It’s enough alone for him to be hard in his pants, erection straining against the fabricate. Malcolm is so ready and spread, it’s only a matter of time, and he knows it. Still…

They’re supposed to be together. This is supposed to be as pleasurable for Malcolm as it is for him. He doesn’t understand why it’s not.

Again, Malcolm speaks against the gag, only to have his words be muffled, but this time Brahms takes heed.

“Please-Don’t- Brahms- Please…”

His voice is shaking at best, and there’s an almost growl of a reply from the other man, bothered by the response, and as he goes to shove the gag back into place Malcolm panics. “Lube, please,” Even through his panic he realizes Brahms might now understand what it is he’s trying to say. “Lube-Lotion, please. It’ll make it easier! Mpf!”

Satisfied beyond with this answer Brahms returns the gag to its now rightful place inside Malcolm’s mouth, and after staring at the exposed man, and licking at his dry lips beneath his porcelain mask he turns, disappearing into the wall.

Malcolm relaxes, and feels the weight of his bindings drop with the motion. Brahms will be back, he knows this, but for now he relaxes, knowing what’s to come. His heart is fluttering inside his chest like a caged bird. Brahms doesn’t seem to want to kill him, not anymore, not that Greta is gone, but that doesn’t mean Malcolm’s going to survive this.

He doesn’t know if his heart can take this.

He bucks useless against his confinements, hoping that there’s some way out that he’s missed, but even if there is, even if the bonds were to snap as if by magic what’s he going to do? Leave the Heelshire estate butt naked? Is that something Malcolm would be willing to do?

Yes. Yes, it is, but there is no magic to free him from his bonds, and no Greta coming back to save him from his fate with Brahms.

Brahms returns from the wall just as quickly as he’d left, now armed with lotion, and resume’s his previous position leaning over Malcolm’s bound body. He looks away, he can’t bear to watch, but still forced to listen to the sound as Brahms slicks his fingers. However, looking away has given Brahms the element of surprise, and there’s no attempting to hide the shocked moan that passes from Malcolm’s muffled lips as Brahms presses not one, but two fingers into the other man’s ass, opening him further. Malcom bucks. He’s trying to press himself further away, but all he manages to do is drive himself down further onto Brahms’ fingers. As inexperienced as he is, Brahms’ book knowledge is enough. His fingers move in a scissoring motion as he presses more, searching for the perfect spot inside of Malcolm. The spot that will make him feel good. It doesn’t take long. Shaking, breathing in gulps of air through his nose, Malcolm turns watching in fascination and horror as Brahms continues thrusting his fingers into his ass with purpose. Even worse, Malcolm can not only feel himself getting hard, but he can see his shame too, with no fabric to hide his erection from site.

This feeling only grows in turn with the pooling in the pit of his stomach as Brahms finds what it is he’s looking for. It’s just a brush at first, the tips of the two fingers just barely pressing against Malcolm’s prostate. Enough for both men to feel, and know what it meant, but not enough for it to become overwhelming.

He’s fully hard now, as Brahms attacks the bundle of nerves like an excited child, eyes lit up behind his mask at the fact he’s bringing Malcolm real pleasure. All the while Malcolm is keening and bucking, tears of frustration beginning to fall from his eyes as he struggles, unsure now if he’s trying to get away from Brahms or if he’s trying to press the fingers deeper inside.

He’s close to cumming. Ready to burst. Cockhead red and swollen, with precum dripping down his shaft, and surely staining the sheets bellow.

And then Brahms stops.

Disappointment is released through Malcolm in the form of a heavy sigh through the nose, body falling lack for a moment. The tension releases in both his muscles, and in the binds holding him to the bed, the old metal giving an exhausted creak as it settles once more.

He bucks his hips once, then twice. Pleading for some form of relief from the other man. Brahms remains unmoving, and Malcolm looks up at him with red face and bleary eyes before begging as best he can through the gag hindering his speech.

“Pfls! Plsf!”

More muffled begging, until an attempt at Brahms name is what gets the other man to snap into action. Brahms doesn’t bother to remove his pants, just undoing them, pulling his erection free of his underwear, and through the hole in his sweats.

It’s good that Malcolm had made Brahms use lotion, it’s a good thing he prepped Malcolm before hand at all. He doesn’t bother to lube his cock up with the rest of the lotion, opting instead to press his own aching cock head against Malcolm’s eager hole. It’s a tight fit, made easier by the prepping from before. It’s Brahms’ first time, and he’s taking Malcolm’s anal virginity along with his own.  He’s not gentle, not like he was with his fingers. Either unaware, or uncaring about the delicate nature of things pounding away at the bound man, trying once more to find the spot inside him that’ll set him wild.

He isn’t going to last long, his pace quick, and unrelenting, with only one goal in mind, coming to an end, but Malcom doesn’t need him to. The prepping from before still fresh in his mind, and on his dick. It only takes two, accidental thrusts hitting his prostate to make Malcom cum. Face flush and mind immediately reeling from the fact he came without his cock even being touched.

There’s a sound like that of a growl which leaves Brahms when he sees Malcolm cum, as if the white liquid was a trigger of some kind. The stronger man leans down, causing the bed to creak as Malcolm tries to lean away, porcelain lips pressing against Malcolm’s own gagged ones in a poor imitation of a kiss.

It’s not enough. Despite being joined together, in the most intimate way possible, it’s not enough for Brahms.

The mask is removed, as is the gag which had been suppressing the sounds of pleasure as they bubbled past Malcolm’s throat.

Brahms kisses Malcolm again. A real kiss this time. Skin to skin, lip to lip, and tongue to tongue.

It’s enough. It’s finally enough. The larger man thrust once, twice, three more times before stilling inside. His breathing is heavy, wet, and coming in large puffs directly in Malcolm’s face. The other man trapped between Brahms and the bed, unable to do anything but moan and squirm as he feels the other man filling him to the brim with cum.

Both their breathing calms, an almost eerie silence growing between the two men as they settle into one another. Brahms moves first, of course, pulling out of Malcolm, and watching with fascination the string of cum still connecting the two of them together.

No longer feeling nearly as full causes Malcolm to release a sigh of relief, eyes shutting tight, and allowing the creeping threat of sleep to begin to take over.

That is until he feels the curious fingers of Brahms running over his ass, and used hole curiously, gathering the cum there, and pressing back inside. The unexpected pleasure leads to a new, exhausted, moan leaving the delivery boys mouth, and when he opens his eyes he’s met with the sight of Brahms erect, and ready for round two.


End file.
